Glasgow, Montana
by Hurlbat
Summary: My vampire hunting hero returns with more gadgets and bigger problems. He finds out the hard way that you can dance with the devil, but you ain't never gonna lead.


It was quite the predicament.

He was staring at me, I was staring at him. I was thinking that he'd made me, but I didn't really know. It was 3:30 in the afternoon and I had just popped over to the 7-11 for a diet Pepsi and a protein bar (I really gotta fix my diet) and there was this guy there staring at me.

He sure looks like one of them, but he is not the one I've been working this week. He was tall; at least six and a half feet tall, and if he was normal like you and me, probably a lean 250 pounds. But I had a sneaking suspicion he was closer to 400. He had that youthful and oppressively beautiful countenance and beatific composure they all seem to have. He was standing completely still, and even then he looked graceful and elegant. It's gotta be low-level telepathy or empathy. They can't all be that pretty. He was not being subtle in his study of me at all. He was deliberately watching me and he wanted me to know it. I cleared the door and went for the coolers in back and there he was, looking all blank and stoic. His eyes were so dark brown as to look completely black, and his bleached hair was short and spiky. He was wearing blue jeans, brown loafers, and a tight pink T-shirt with the words,"define 'girlfriend'" stenciled across the front. This was creepy. He slurped noisily from his blue raspberry slushee and just kept staring at me.

I was in street clothes, and I had almost no gear on except the overcoat, shock batteries (they are sewn into the coat), and the Redhawk in a shoulder rig. At this distance I'd never even clear the holster. Hell, I'd need 100 yards or more to clear the holster from his type. If he made a move my only hope was that the shock batteries would surprise him enough for me to unload the revolver into him and escape. That is, if his charge itself didn't kill me outright. This was going to be tricky.

I let my eyes meet his. No point in acting scared. Let him think I knew something he didn't. Sparkles hate when you act like they aren't scary. It felt like a million maggots were having a square-dancing competition under my skin when our eyes met. I stifled a shudder and forced myself to nod an almost imperceptible greeting; just two guys bumping into each other at the quickie-mart. At this show of bravado his face split into a wolfish grin, complete with bright-white teeth and cruelly arched eyebrows. This guy really _was_ something right out of a comic book.

"Walk with me, Martin," he said cordially in a flawless _basso profundo_ with just a hint of an English accent, and flicked his head towards the door. He knew the name I was operating under? It's not my real name, but it meant that he had done some research at least. I really needed to know more about this guy. Not wanting to go at it in the store, I felt compelled to at least feign compliance until my opportunities improved, and more intelligence had been gathered.

I paid for my breakfast and walked out with my erstwhile companion. It was strange to be so close to a vampire and not be trying to destroy it. We walked in silence. The afternoon was cold and very gray, and the sun was already almost completely down. Dark comes early in the Montana winter, and this suits the vampires just fine. So far we had kept to the streets. If he wanted to kill me, he would really need somewhere secluded to do it; and he was not even trying. I wonder if he knew what would happen if he tried to force me. Did he know about the pressure sensors? Or the defensive contacts in my coat that would discharge enough current to vaporize his hand if he grabbed me? If he did, then he was VERY well informed. I was pretty sure that every vampire that knew about my equipment was dead…because quite frankly, the only way to know about my equipment was to experience it. This had universally led to a bad ending for the vampire.

The streets were well populated with Christmas shoppers, and at no point were we concealed from public view. So far, there was no indication that he intended to harm me. For some reason, that made me even more nervous. I had always counted on my prey being predictable. This was a very unpredictable vampire. I didn't like it at all. He led me to a city bench in front of a fountain at a busy intersection. We sat. It was eerie.

"Oh, Martin," he breathed, "I assume we shall call you Martin. It's what you've been using anyway, so it will do. Which Martin are you calling yourself after: St. Martin of Tours, the patron saint of soldiers and fighters, or St. Martin de Porres, the patron saint of racial harmony?"

I chuckled; this guy had done his homework, "Both."

"I knew you were going to say that," was his dry response. "You may call me Mr. Frost. I know quite a bit about you, Martin; but not as much as I'd like. You have been a very busy man, and not everybody thinks that is a good thing. I, for one, am _undecided_."

That last word had an air of deliberation to it. It was a carefully chosen word, and I was being studied for my reaction to it. How much did he _know_? Dry sarcasm is sort of my default conversational setting, and I saw no need to change that for this monster. "Well, my lanky friend, exactly how can I help you with your decision?" I responded glibly. This guy wanted something from me, and therefore he would not kill me until he got it. I had time. "I think you and I have some serious philosophical differences that would preclude friendship, and since you haven't tried to kill me yet, I must assume you have a transaction of some sort in mind."

His laughter was explosive and damned contagious. His emotional pull was affecting even me. "You misunderstand me, Sir!" He boomed, "I would personally LOVE to be your friend. Your enemies have a notoriously poor survival rate! It certainly is not impossible that some of your past enemies were some of my enemies too, now is it? Nor is it entirely impossible that some of _your _future enemies may not also be my enemies as well. Is it so hard to believe that?" His grin could swallow a Buick.

"Sometimes, however, your enemies are my unfortunate responsibility. Take your current quarry, for instance. You have been stalking Rafael Velaquez. He _is_ a rather noisome insect; we are in complete agreement in that. Under normal circumstances, you killing him would only improve my mood; but circumstances are not normal, and so his death at this time would be problematic. Which is why I am here talking to you. I would like to negotiate."

"Ahhhhh, so you want me to hunt only your enemies, then? What makes you think I care to discriminate in my targets based solely upon your preference? What makes you think I won't hunt YOU?" Now it was time to see exactly what my tall friend brought to the table.

His grin never wavered, "You don't want to hunt me because I can help you find peace. Your crusade is futile. You will never get us all, and you will never avenge whatever loved one you lost. Eventually, you will slip up and one of us will kill you. It will probably be me." He shifted in the seat to bring the full intensity of his gaze upon me. "There are…conventions…that those of my race are obliged to respect when we deal with each other. There are patterns, and codes, and secret cabals within our society. I can give you these keys to our society and help you to purge those animals that infect even us."

His gaze intensified, "Did you know that there are those of us who refuse human blood? Those of us that consume only animals for sustenance? They call us 'vegetarians' and sneer at us, as they believe it makes us weaker than the others. There are levels and degrees to everything, even vampires, Mr. Martin. We are not all evil, marauding monsters; but we are ALL bound by our rules. You are not subject to our rules, and you are the only human to have killed a vampire in a thousand years. I am prepared to help you kill my kind, as long as you kill those who oppose me first."

"I watched you hunt in Kansas last month, Mr. Martin," he continued. "I do not know exactly what transpired in that tunnel, but I _do_ know that you locked yourself into a confined space with a healthy vampire with a reputation for brutality, and killed him in less than 5 minutes. I checked, I don't know how you did it, but there was nothing left of him but white ash and those ingenious metal spikes of yours! How do you manage to penetrate our flesh with only regular human strength? You may not realize it, Mr. Martin, but that is _extremely _impressive."

"I do good work," was my measured response. This was very strange. I had not detected him in Kansas at all. They have been watching me for a while, then.

"After the mess in San Francisco," He continued, "Sloppy work, that; my people sent me to find and eliminate you." I stiffened a little at that, my hand slowly maneuvering to the butt of the Redhawk in my left armpit.

"Relax, Mr. Martin," he said, "If I wanted you dead, I would have made my move. But unfortunately, ours is not a terribly scientific race, and I still haven't figured out how to attack you without getting one of those horrible little shocks I've observed. You cannot possibly be triggering them yourself, can you? By the way, clever as that is, it will not protect you forever, you know."

I had to chuckle a little bit at that, "So far, so good, though, Mr. Frost!"

"Your logic is unassailable, Mr. Martin," was his good-natured response. This one was obscenely likable. He continued jovially, "Observing you at work I began to realize that you were very unique. Here is a little tidbit about our race you may not have been aware of. Each of us will generally develop _unique_ talents of our own when we are turned; based upon our skills or idiosyncrasies as a human. If one was an overly intuitive human, they may end up a clairvoyant vampire. An excessively fast human will be a remarkably fast vampire." He got very close to me and slowly enunciated, "A man who is uniquely gifted at killing vampires as a human? Well, there are those of us who wonder what _he_ would be like if turned. Imagine it: Our strength, our speed, our longevity, and our durability all at your disposal! You would be a force of nature!"

My skin prickled. I was being tempted by the devil himself with the power to crush my enemies. How many men had stood at this same crossroads, and how did history remember them? It was very compelling. "Force of nature, Mr. Frost?" I cracked my knuckles, "And exactly _who_ would reap this whirlwind?" I asked quietly, "Your enemies? Mine? Who controls me after the change? What do I become?" Niestche may have been a madman, but he gave good advice, "'He who would fight monsters should take care, lest he become one himself' Mr. Frost. I do not see how becoming my worst enemy will help me find my peace."

I let him see my eyes. If they are at all empathic, as I suspect, then let him feel my resolution, unfettered by caution or pragmatism! "You think I am trying to kill all the vampires, Mr. Frost. That is inaccurate. I do not care about killing every vampire, as you will just make more, and doing so will not change anything that has happened. This is about my gift to your race: the gift of _fear. _ I will give you and everyone like you a reason to hide during the day. To stop me you must kill me. _Do you hear that, Mr. Frost? _This ends with my death, because life no longer means anything to me. Your kind saw to that. If you make me immortal, then my crusade will never end, my journey will never end, and my pain will never end. You are offering me eternal suffering, Mr. Frost, and I think I will decline."

Frost's good humor seemed somewhat dampened, "I see. If I cannot persuade you with immortality, then perhaps reason will be more effective."

He pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache or a particularly troublesome child to deal with. It was a strangely human gesture, and I couldn't help but be amused. "Mr. Martin," He began, "I was one of the greatest hunters of men who ever lived. Kings and emperors employed my services whenever their sense of expediency overwhelmed their personal honor. I was a great assassin as a human, and as a vampire I am the most dangerous creature you have ever met. Ironically, despite having killed hundreds of men as a human, I have not killed a single human since I was turned. I feed on only animals." He snorted, "Killing humans is an affront to my skills. We are _both_ killers, Mr. Martin, and I would not insult our craft by lying to you about something so trivial."

He leaned back in the bench with a thoughtful, faraway look on his face, "I do not want to waste your skills by killing you, Mr. Martin. Much could be," he paused, a moment, searching for the correct word, _"accomplished_, with your assistance." He stopped and gave me a measuring gaze, "You have a great opportunity tonight, Mr. Martin. You can choose to be St. Martin de Porres, and work with me to improve racial harmony by killing those who are truly evil among both our races, or you can choose to be St. Martin de Tours and we will battle each other tonight, and let history choose the victor."

His eyes narrowed and a low growl escaped his chest. He seemed to grow and widen in front of me as his lips curled back into a feral grin. His youthful, almost cherubic face contorted into the remorseless façade of a timeless, natural-born killer. The transformation was remarkable, and the visage terrifying. It was a stark contrast to his affable nature up to this point. His voice was no longer amiable or friendly, but the hushed snarl of a tiger at work in its natural habitat, "I have not killed a human being in 300 years, Mr. Martin. None have ever been worth it. I have been killing vampires, and werewolves, and things you can't even imagine since your great-great-great-great grandfather was a boy, and no petty, mewling, flimsy human can compare to that." His face was only inches from mine now, "But I think you will prove to be a very satisfying kill, Mr. Martin. You are like me, and that will be a strange thing; to kill one so much like myself. I have often wondered how I would face death, and killing you may be the only way to know the answer." He leaned back, breaking the intense stare-down between us, and some of his previous composure returned, "It does not matter to me what you choose to do. Help me, or die by my hand. You decide. I will know your decision by your actions. If you kill Rafael tonight, than I know you are not with me, and I will come for you. If Rafael lives come sunrise, then I guess we are friends and I will contact you. Good night, Mr. Martin."

He stood up and walked away briskly. In a few moments I had lost his silhouette in the gathering twilight, and was left by myself on the bench. I did not linger there, but quickly stood up and made my way back to the hotel.

There was much to do.

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I did not trust Frost. Vampires are altogether too convincing as liars. Killing Velasquez was a foregone conclusion as well. Velasquez was more than just a vampire; he was a local crime lord and overall rat bastard. He used his mundane criminal enterprises to mask his feeding habits, as well as arrange for a steady food supply to other vampires within his organization. Striking him meant cutting off easy food supply to many of the vampires in the northern US and Southern Canada. No amount of threatening or cajoling from Mr. Frost was going to earn this joker a reprieve from me. This is also why Frost probably wasn't eager to lose him yet; a test to see if I could be controlled. I've never tested well.

Either way, Frost's machinations were immaterial to me. Velasquez was going down. The problem was: when would Frost come for me? He appeared to be very good at this sort of thing, and for the first time, I truly questioned whether I was prepared for the battle.

My schedule called for me to take down Velasquez at 10:30 PM. He was a creature of habit, and he routinely partied from 11PM to the break of dawn. I picked a night where he probably was not going to feed, and this left him alone in his hotel suite for about a half hour while he prepped for another evening of debauchery and excess.

I debuted a new piece of equipment on him, and it worked beautifully. It's tricky, but with adequate prep time, it would give me good service in the future. Velasquez was young for a vampire, and relatively careless to boot. He was too high on his own invincibility to see the threat coming, and he was unprepared for my traps. Taking him down was one of my easier operations. I could not finish him at the hotel (too public), but with the help of a laundry cart, I moved his twitching body to the hotel basement and out through the loading dock. Once there, it was no trouble at all to load him into the van and make my escape. Once I was safely back to my campsite in the Montana woods, I put the white phosphorus to him and let him burn. Solid work, if I do say so myself.

Now I had only to wait for Mr. Frost.

I knew he would be coming. I suspect he knew about Velasquez's death by midnight, but not sooner. If my suspicions were accurate, Frost would have had to keep a little distance from Velasquez for fear of discovery. Vampires trust each other very little, and Frost seemed like the kind of guy even vampire's got spooked by. This gave me some time to prepare.

I moved to the back of my cave. It was located in the side of a steep rock formation deep in the Montana pine forests. It had only one entrance, and the approach was very difficult. Terrain was rarely an issue for vampires, but the cover was thick, and at least he would not be able to come at me full speed. I activated the mines along the approach, and set the perimeter motion detectors. I rigged the cave entrance with claymores, and put on all my armor. This was the most defensible position I could manage, and it was a good one. You always want to choose your terrain carefully when dealing with vampires.

Something about Frost had me spooked, so I added all the extra ballistic plating I had brought to my regular armor, and put on the helmet. All told, the entire getup weighed almost 65 pounds, but the weight was distributed evenly and balanced perfectly. Like a Teutonic knight with his custom-made plate mail, I was only marginally impinged in motion or speed. Of course, no knight was ever so well protected as I was in my high-tech cocoon of plastic and steel. I slipped into the overcoat, checked the batteries, holstered the Redhawk, loaded my pouches with various grenades, and settled down to wait.

The first mine went off at 1:45 AM. How he got past the motion sensors, I'll never know. The tremendous explosion startled me and shook the cave. I heard Frost's booming laughter from outside.

"Nicely done, Mr. Martin, I missed that one!" For a man who had just stepped on a 4-lb anti-personnel mine, he sounded remarkably unperturbed. I had known that he would smell the mines, so I had put out so many that even he would not have been able to pick them all out individually.

"Come out, Mr. Martin!" I heard Frost's voice dangerously close to the entrance of my cave. "I know you have all sorts of nastiness waiting for me in there, so I am disinclined to come in, but then again, I suppose you are disinclined to come out as well!" He laughed some more, "You know, Mr. Martin, that I can wait out here much longer than you can wait in there!" More laughter.

He was right; I would lose a siege. It's not something I had the opportunity to deal with much in this line of work. Usually, a vampire is so angry or hungry, they just sort of charge at me. They are generally very confident that I can't hurt them and so they do not exercise caution. I had hoped for a similar case tonight, but Frost was obviously more refined.

Despite my circumstances, I found myself enjoying this interaction. It seemed absurd, but I could not help but revel in the possibility of this battle. Frost was obviously older and more cunning than my usual prey, and for the first time I really expected to die. This was exhilarating, precisely because I did not WANT to die. Since I started this crusade, I had told myself it was just my way of committing suicide and seeking justice at the same time. I embraced the possibility, nay inevitability, of the death that awaited me. Now that I was facing it, I wanted to _beat_ it. I have not feared death for many years now, but I _had_ been running a slow footrace against it out of spite. At least now, as I faced my greatest foe, I could see death approaching, and I was eager to test myself against it. Come and get me you son of a bitch…

My mind raced. No matter how fast he came into the cave, he was not faster than the speed of light, so the sensors would trip and the mines would go off. He was not faster than the speed of sound, either, so the blasts and shrapnel would hit him. The variable was whether or not he was durable enough to ride that out and still have enough in the tank to take me out. Frost was taking no chances, so that led me to believe he was not sure of his own limits, either. Vampire strength, speed and durability are not infinite. They are limited by age, skill, and the amount of feeding the vampire has done. The fastest way to drain those energy reserves is to do massive damage. Regeneration and damage repair slow vampires down significantly. This is my bread and butter when I work. My old jujitsu teacher always taught me that when you are faced with an opponent that is too big or skilled or difficult to defeat, you do not attack the whole opponent. If they are stronger, or more skilled, or otherwise superior, then attacking them directly is futile. What you should do is attack a small, manageable _piece_ of the opponent and work on that. In the case of vampires, I do not try to kill them, killing them is far too difficult; I try to damage them, and that is much simpler.

But how do I hurt him if he won't come in the cave? I could hear him out there singing "Danny Boy" quietly to himself; mocking me and reminding me he was still out there at the same time. The Redhawk was usually a very good start, but outside the cave he had a lot of room to move around. Hitting a vampire with a bullet outdoors was a losing proposition. They are too fast and their reflexes are too good. My other gear consisted of some 40mm HE rounds and a "bloop gun" launcher for them, some C4 and detonators, an AA-12 automatic combat shotgun, CS grenades, flash-bangs, and some other assorted non-lethal ordnance. The single shot grenade launcher was not going to be loads of help here. I needed him to hold still long enough for me to hurt him bad enough, and the low-speed 40mm grenades would be laughably easy to dodge for him.

My eyes fell on one item. It was the device I had put to good use on Velasquez earlier. The beginnings of a desperate idea began to foment in the back of my head. With this in mind I resolved myself to going out there and dealing with Mr. Frost the old-fashioned way; and I intended to win. It was a silly, macho idea, but I was out of options and it sounded like fun. To hell with the consequences, it was either stay in here until I starved to death or he figured out a way to get in, or go out there and have it out with the bastard. I began to work quickly on my preparations, while starting a running harangue of Frost to keep him occupied.

"Hey, Frosty! Why did you want to keep Rafael alive anyway? He was a dirtbag and you know it! All this talk of doing good and you keep that piece of shit alive? What's the story?"

"Mr. Martin, why does it matter? You must come out at some point, and then I will kill you, so why bother?" Frost sounded bored, but he was still very close to the entrance. I worked faster.

"It's been bugging me. You gave me a big speech about what we could accomplish, and yet a white-slaving, drug-peddling hedonist like that is given a pass? It doesn't add up. Maybe if you were more forthcoming, I could have trusted you." I was nearly done.

"Martin, you may not realize this, but you can't just go around killing 'bad guys' willy-nilly. There are rules, and stratagems. My people had plans for mister Velasquez that you have now ruined. Furthermore, the blame for his death will be upon us if I do not bring them your corpse to prove our innocence. I wish to see order and honor returned to our race, but what you will bring is strife and civil war. You must be controlled or destroyed, Mr. Martin…you are too damned unpredictable."

"That is a fact, Mr. Frost." I strode out of the cave and stared levelly down on Frost from the lip of the cave. He grinned up at me.

"My, aren't you the dashing one! A knight in plastic armor!" he exclaimed when he saw me. I was covered head to toe in black nomex armor. It was periodically and liberally braced with ballistic plating, and underneath it was sophisticated reactive gel. I wore a helmet and gorget of the same. My helmet was patterned after the kabuto samurai wore in feudal Japan. It protected my head and covered the back of my neck all the way down to my cervical vertebrae. The facemask had thick goggles reminiscent of German mensur face gear, and an armored rebreather mask. For all intents and purposes, I closely resembled a reject from a bad sci-fi movie, but altogether it represented nearly a million dollars' worth of the most sophisticated armor in the world. More than one vampire had broken both claw and spirit against this armor, and I was about to add another, I hoped.

"So this is how you survived this long!" He seemed almost gleeful, "Absolutely amazing! I suppose if I just pop up there to break your neck, I'll get one of those nasty shocks, won't I? No, thank you."

Faster than I could blink he grabbed a 40-lb piece of the igneous landscape and threw it at me. It impacted dead center on my chest and threw me onto my back. He was on top of me before I had settled and tossed me down the ravine away from my cave. "You won't be dragging me in there tonight, Mr. Martin! I know what happens to little flies when they come into YOUR parlour!"

When I hit the ground it was only by purest dumb luck that I did not land on one of my own mines. I looked up to find I had been tossed nearly 75 feet downhill. Frost was on me again instantly and lifted me by the helmet. He twisted the helmet furiously, attempting to break my neck, but the helmet and gorget are connected, and he only succeeded in twisting my body painfully. Five seconds into this battle and it was already gone to hell. Wonderful.

"Your armorer is a _genius_ Mr. Martin!" he cackled, and slammed me into the ground with bone-crushing force. My armor was designed for exactly this sort of abuse. It's sort of an inevitable side-effect of my chosen career, but Frost's strength was simply enormous. It was nothing like any other vampire I had faced. He was really pushing all the limits of my gear.

"It seems, Mr. Martin, that your nasty little electrical device is broken!" He tossed me against a boulder with enough force to turn my ribs to splinters if not for the gel under-layer of my armor. "For you see, no matter how I thrash you about, I remain un-shocked! How shocking!" He laughed at his own joke, for that alone I was going to kill him. "More's the pity for you, I should think!"

It was true that there had been no discharge, but that was because he had not tripped the sensors while grounded. He kept fucking throwing me around, when what I needed was for him to be touching me when the sensors tripped. By hitting me with the rock first, he thought he had damaged it. It was very clever of him, as it precluded him having to touch me, but it had led him to an incorrect conclusion: my batteries were showing full charge and both capacitors were ready to fire. Unfortunately, Frost was not cooperating. He was smart enough to avoid grappling with me, as well. He had obviously done his homework, and a cautious vampire was something new and terrifying for me. Instead of being a charging lion into the hunter's trap, he was a frustrated seagull trying to open an oyster by dashing it against the rocks. I was not enjoying the role of oyster one bit; I had to get him to fight me up close.

I managed to get my hand on a grenade in my belt just as Frost threw me again. It was all I could do to hang on to it when I hit another rock. My armor was beginning to show signs of failure, as viscous white fluid began to weep from the seams. Some of the gel packets were starting to rupture, and that was a serious problem. Without them, the impacts would rapidly turn my bones and organs to mush. I was running out of time. Frost was right on top of me again when I managed to pull the pin. I didn't even know what kind of grenade it was, and I didn't care, I needed two fucking seconds reprieve from the thrashing I was taking.

I was rewarded with a loud "pop" and a large cloud of CS tear gas. Frost immediately dropped me and staggered back, sputtering. Without a pause I hauled the Redhawk from the holster and put three rounds right into his face. The effect was rather less dramatic than I had hoped. Typically, the 400-grain depleted uranium bullets rip through even vampire flesh to leave horrible exit wounds; however Frost seemed to be made of some unusually stern stuff. I expected most of his head to be removed and/or pulverized; what I got was three holes in his face and some ugly, oozing discharge. That was about it.

He howled like a wild creature and lashed out at me with all his speed and force. While I certainly hadn't done as much damage as I would have liked, I had succeeded in blinding him completely, and this saved my life. His blows missed me by a wide margin and gave me the time I needed to put a round through his left knee. Again, his strength was astounding, as the he managed to stay on his feet after having the joint all but destroyed by the powerful revolver.

Before I could get off a fifth shot, his hand found a rock the size of a microwave oven and threw it in my direction, missing by a wide margin. I thought nothing of it until a large explosion from behind threw me forward and into Frost. Clever bastard; he couldn't see me but he could still smell the mines! When I collided with Frost he seized me with a vice-like grip and snarled, "I think I'll keep the pistol as a trophy, Mr. Martin." The Redhawk fell from my numbed fingers as his grip on my wrist tightened enough to stiffen the gel and cut off the blood to my hand.

He raised me above his head and I mentally prepared for what would happen next. He was blind until his eyes healed, so I knew he would not throw me away again and risk losing me. That was the good news. The bad news was that this was going to hurt like hell. With tremendous force he slammed me against the ground. My poor, abused armor barely survived and I blacked out. However, Frost's good, tight, grip provided a perfect conduit for the 250,000 volts of electricity discharged by the capacitors in my coat to travel at tremendous speed through his hands and out through his perfectly grounded feet. I don't remember the discharge itself (the impact from his slam had me completely out of it for at least a few seconds), but when I came to, Frost was howling on the ground a few feet away from me. Both his hands had been vaporized by the blast, and charred stumps were all that remained.

From under my coat I removed the device I had prepared and waited for his charge. Against most other vampires, this is the point when I would probably move in to finish my target; but based on what I had observed of my opponent, I knew Frost wasn't done yet. While other vampires had gone down with less damage than what he had endured, Frost was special…I had figured that out already. If I had not hurt him enough, he would still have the speed and strength to crush me. As it stood, my armor was in very rough shape, and I had no confidence in its ability to continue absorbing this kind of punishment. No, I would play it cautiously. Sure enough, only few seconds after the shock, his cries quickly became chuckles as he rose to face me.

"Ohhhhh, _very _good, Mr. Martin!" He said in a low, dangerous voice, "you are _very _good, indeed!" His face was beginning to heal, but his eyes were milky white gelatinous orbs, and he still appeared to be blind. His grin was terrifying. "Don't worry, Mr. Martin. I can hear your breathing now, and smell that delightfully clever liquid from your armor. Most intriguing technology you have, sir. Is that why your bones don't break? I knew the shell was going to be tough, but I could not figure out why you were not being crushed inside of it. Now I know. _Very_ impressive."

What was he waiting for?

"Mr. Martin, I will be frank with you," Frost sat down heavily on the ground, "I really have no interest in killing you. I was never sent to kill you, and I did not care one whit about Rafael Velasquez." He sighed and leaned against a rock. "The truth is, Mr. Martin, forever is a long time, and I have no hobbies. It is true that I was a great assassin, and I have longed for a quarry that could make me feel like the old days. When some of my race pointed me in your direction, I was very excited." He chuckled and then coughed, "You did not disappoint, Mr. Martin, that is a fact. But now we find ourselves at the ends of our respective ropes. I don't think your magnificent armor can take a whole lot more abuse, and I know that most of my energy will be needed to heal my face, hands and knee. We are two tigers that have wounded each other far too grievously to continue. One of us will die if we keep at it, and for the first time in 300 years, I am not sure it won't be me. I don't know what other nasty tricks you have up your sleeve, and you can't be sure how much strength I have left. You've already figured out that I am tougher than the usual lot you tussle with."

He was suddenly on his feet, and I braced myself for my last gambit: a monofilament line stretched between two tungsten handles in a garrote. Hopefully, he'd be slowed enough by his injuries for me to get it in place when he charged. The high tensile strength of the line plus his speed should be sufficient to amputate any part of him that hit it. Hopefully, I'd get him before the impact killed me.

Frost did not look like he was about to charge, though, "But I find myself realizing something Mr. Martin: I don't really _want_ to die yet. I had thought I'd be Ok with it, even that I _wanted_ it. I know I am not afraid of it, but I think I am not yet resigned to death. I suddenly find myself thinking that perhaps this tedious existence is going to get a little less tedious with you around, sir. He sighed again, "So I offer you this: Your secrets are safe with me, Mr. Martin. I will not discuss your wonderful little toys with my kind. I will not interfere with your hunts in any way. I will tell my people that I could not best you and that I no longer care to try. This will make you a legend among my people, I assure you. My skills are much respected, and you having survived me will make the very thought of you the most terrifying thing in the world to the vampire race." His mangled face contorted into the approximation of a sterner countenance, "In exchange for this, you will be more selective in your quarry. Those of my kind who do not feed on humans will be left alone, and even protected by you. You will be sure to avoid their homes, and hunt only when you are absolutely sure your prey is a murderer. If you do this, I will not come for you, and I may even aid you when it serves my purposes. If you do not, if you kill even one 'vegetarian' vampire, then I will come for you again, and we will play this game to the end. I trust we have an understanding, Mr. Martin? Otherwise, we can continue or little waltz whenever you are ready."

I allowed myself to breathe for a moment. This was something new. I had never heard of vampires feeding only on animals, but I supposed it was feasible. Truthfully, every vampire I had killed to date had been a man-eater without question, so it had not occurred to me that others might forswear human blood. What would define my crusade? St Martin de Tours was the patron Saint of soldiers; was I fighting a war against the entire vampire race? Did it matter what they ate? They were all still vampires, after all. St. Martin de Porres would have battled only the sin itself. What kind of killer would I be? Am I a warrior, or an exterminator?

I looked over at Frost. We really were much alike. He had had the same revelation battling me that I had battling him: we were not quite ready to give up the ghost just yet. Despite our personal pain and desire for some sort of iconic death, we had each accidentally discovered a reason to keep living. When I looked at Frost, I could see the same indecision, and even trepidation (dare I say fear?) about what would happen going forward that I myself faced. It is one thing to try to die, and quite another to try to live.

"I believe we have an understanding, Mr. Frost," I replied after a long pause.

"Excellent!" his jovial tone had returned as abruptly as it fled. With the understanding between us solidified, the terrifying vampire assassin was gone, and in his place materialized a chatty British dandy. I swear that was the most terrifying transformation of all. "You will not object if I stay here until my eyesight returns and my knee heals?" He began to walk towards my cave. " The hands are going to take _days _to return. Mind those mines! I don't suppose you'd tell me how the electrical device works? I thought I had it figured out, but," he waved his stumps," I guess not! And that revolver! What a thing of beauty! .454 isn't it? Excellent choice! It's exactly what I'd have used for this sort of thing. Oh, and you simply must tell me w_ho_ makes that delightful armor of yours? The kabuto is a nice touch…"

I groaned, "I should have killed you…"

His laughter boomed through the predawn gloom and echoed across the Montana wilderness.


End file.
